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Chapter 7
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Still trembling with the lingering passion of Raven's departure, Angela heard the horse and rider arrive. Had an hour passed already?
During that time, she had relived Raven's bold, demanding kiss a thousand times, contemplating all the things she should have done: stomped on his foot, jerked her knee up and caught him in the groin, pleaded with him not to leave her.
How could she possibly harbor this intense longing for an outlaw, for a man who had abducted her in the dead of night? She blamed her unfathomable desire on hours of riding within his embrace, feeling the sting of his anger, the warmth of his concern, the hint of his teasing. As preposterous as it was, she wished she had known him before he'd turned to a life of crime.
"Where's Raven?" a masculine voice demanded.
She heard the man dismount, and his horse snort.
"He … he left. Rode away. Hours ago."
"He left you here alone?"
She nodded at his cautious inquiry. "Yes, so you can take me—"
"Did he grow tired of you warming his bed?"
She released a startled scream, the gun flying from her hand as he knocked her to the ground unmercifully. A sharp pain ricocheted through her skull, bright stars bursting through the darkness.
The man's heaviness pressed down on her, threatening to crush her ribs. She bucked ineffectually, distantly aware of his hand creeping beneath her skirt, his thick fingers digging into her thigh as oblivion and blessed escape claimed her.
* * *
Her head thrumming with a dull ache, Angela awoke slowly, vaguely conscious of the tendrils of warmth sent out by the nearby crackling fire, acutely aware of the soft, damp cloth outlining slowly, ever so slowly, the curve of her cheek. She somehow knew with an undeniable certainty who was touching her with a gentleness that made her throat grow tight with emotions. "Lee?"
"Sí. I am here."
She started to rise up on her elbows, only to have him press her down. "Lie still," he ordered. "You hit your head on a rock."
She settled back against the hard ground, an astonishing thought swirling through her hazy mind. "You came back."
"I never left, querida." With incredible tenderness, he trailed the cloth across her chin and along her throat. Then he gave the same exquisite attention to the other side of her face.
Her body ached in every conceivable place except the one where she had expected the most pain. "You never left," she repeated softly.
"I did not expect him to move so quickly." He traced his finger along her exposed collarbone. "He ripped your dress, but he accomplished nothing more."
A wretched, dry sob escaped her as he assuaged her fears, terror at the thought of what the man might have done after oblivion had descended, events that mercifully she could not remember. Lee slid his hand beneath her head, lifted her slightly, and pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder, murmuring gently in Spanish, words she couldn't comprehend, though they provided solace. She let the tears fall and curled her fingers around the opening to his shirt. "You knew he would attack me," she said.
"I only knew he broke away from the pack of wolves. An avaricious man who wanted to share the bounty with no one. A man such as this is often greedy for other things."
She squeezed her eyes shut to stay the tears. Dreading the answer, she dared to ask, "Did you kill him?"
"No, I crept up behind him and knocked him out with the butt of my gun. When we left, he was still breathing."
She thought she detected disappointment in his voice, not so much because the man still lived, but because her question had wounded him. What did he expect her to think when he was wanted for murder? Gently he laid her down.
"When we left?" she repeated.
"We rode for a while, but when you would not wake up, I got worried."
Worried? In his concern for her welfare, he'd made her a pallet, used his poncho for a pillow, built a fire … a fire … crickets chirped. "It's night! They'll spot this fire."
"Probably," he answered, resignation laced through his voice. "But your hands were like ice. I was afraid you were dying. I did not want you to die cold."
"Put out the fire."
"You surprise me. I assumed you would welcome my capture."
Until a few hours ago she would have, but now she was astonishingly aware of the difference between the men who followed and Raven. She had expected the outlaw to be uncouth, immoral, without a fiber of decency woven through the tapestry of his character. Instead, she was discovering that he was a labyrinth of contradictions. A man who failed to heed the law but still managed to appear chivalrous. "Now, I owe you."
"Is that all there is to it, querida?"
Her breath hitched as he stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, and she forced her tongue to stay behind her teeth when she desperately wanted to taste him again.
"Why didn't you fight me when I kissed you?" he asked in a quiet seductive voice that sent shivers tingling along her spine and warmth curling in the pit of her stomach.
"I…" She swallowed hard, determined to lie so he would never know the intensity with which she desired him, a fervor that frightened with its unfamiliarity, but lured her with a promise of fulfillment. "I was afraid you might take offense and decide not to leave me."
He leaned closer, and his chest pressed against her breast. Her entire body reacted quite differently than it had to the closeness of the man in the clearing. Where before she'd experienced revulsion, now profound desire swamped her.
He brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth. "So … if I were to kiss you now, you would fight?"
Closing her eyes, she wished she could gaze into his. Were they the brown of pecans or the black of rich soil? "I'd fight you," she whispered with a breathless voice that belied her words, "but my head hurts."
He pressed his mouth to her temple. "It is a shame we are far from home. Juanita could give you a potion for your head, and I would call your bluff."
Her heart very nearly stilled. Like every word he spoke about home, this woman's name had been surrounded by love. "Juanita?"
"My sister. She knows much about herbs."
Unwarranted relief flooded her. So incredibly stupid. This man was a notorious outlaw. Kit Montgomery had spent his life searching for men such as this, to bring them to justice, to ensure that the people of Texas were safe. Even her father and Grayson Rhodes … years ago, they had stood beside Kit and survived a gunfight against a band of outlaws that had become legendary.
As for his threat to call her bluff, not even her father had ever been able to read her with the astute accuracy that Raven did. She didn't want to contemplate the intimacy growing between them or the reason she welcomed it even though it terrified her. "Lee, put out the fire," she repeated.
"Not until you have eaten."
He retreated, and she mourned the loss of his touch, even though she knew danger resided within the desires swirling through her. "You're risking capture."
"They will find me anyway, my stomach is growling so loud."
Sitting up, she moaned low as pain ricocheted across the base of her skull.
"Is it bad?" he asked.
She shook her head slightly.
"You never complain," he said with amazement.
"I seem to recall voicing several objections—"
"That I took you in the dead of night, sí, but that you are hungry or cold or weary, no. You are a remarkable woman, Angela Bainbridge."
As his footsteps faded in the distance, she scooted back until she could lean against a tree. A remarkable woman? Hardly. Her head throbbed with an agony that made it difficult to hold the demons of her past failures at bay.
Fifteen years had passed, but she could see the moment as clearly as if it were yesterday. And the child they had entrusted to her keeping, Damon Montgomery. With his mother's blond hair and his father's pale blue eyes, eyes that had sparkled with merriment whenever they had played together.
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She had been four years older, old enough to know better than to stray far, but he had been searching for the perfect hiding place. When the renegades had attacked, he'd been at their mercy.
Angela shuddered. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes, she couldn't prevent the image from appearing. Fair-skinned Damon, trapped beneath the bronzed arm of a warrior as his horse galloped away.
Now, men just as treacherous were closing in on Lee, and she felt as helpless. She contemplated putting out the fire, but the stubborn man would probably only rebuild it. Based on the tales she'd heard, she'd expected him to behave as the man in the clearing had … ruthlessly, unmercifully. Yet at every turn, he'd failed to meet her expectations.
"I hope rabbit appeals to you," he announced, interrupting her thoughts. His knees popped, and she envisioned him crouched before the fire, preparing the meal.
"I can't believe you're taking time to cook."
"It won't take long, and my horse can use the additional rest. It will be his last for a while."
"You didn't take that man's horse?"
"They hang horse thieves."
Her stomach tightened. "What difference does that make when you'll probably hang anyway?"
"I would not like to see a noose slipped around your pretty neck if someone mistakenly thought you were the one who stole it."
"How can you joke about it?"
"For a long time I have lived with the knowledge that I'll hang. I do not welcome it, but that is the way of it."
She heard the fire crackle, and a tantalizing aroma wafted toward her. Lee sat beside her, and she realized because of her, he had lost valuable time, had shortened the distance between himself and capture. In the beginning, as much as she'd hated being bound, she'd found satisfaction in the fact that he obviously thought she was capable of escaping. She had managed to slow him down, but now guilt pricked her conscience. He had not abandoned her even though she'd wanted to ensure his capture.
"Lee," she said quietly, "I'm sorry that I asked you to leave me behind. I just wanted to go home so badly."
He cradled her face with such tenderness that she almost wept again. "I know, querida. I am not angry with you, and I regret that I must return to my home before I take you to Fortune."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "What are you talking about? You told Alejandro that as soon as you lost sight of these men—"
"I know what I told him, but before the sun set, long before I made camp, I spotted another group of riders."
With her hope spiraling, she sat up straighter. "They could be men my father hired."
"Possibly. Or if indeed your father contacted Montgomery, they might be Rangers. Either way, now I know that many are in pursuit, and I cannot take the time to return you until I know for certain that my brothers made it home safely."
She sank against the tree, acknowledging his unasked question. "I'll cooperate."
"Gracias. Once I know all is well with them, I will return you to Fortune."
He moved away from her and she listened to the sounds of him preparing a meal. Her mind drifted. She knew the first group of riders hadn't been hired by her father; the man never would have attacked her. But the second group … if there was any chance at all that they were more interested in her than Lee … and yet she understood fully his need to check on his family. Her own family was constantly in her thoughts. Her parents would be frantic with worry. If only she could somehow let them know no harm had come to her…
She removed the deck from her pocket and searched for her favorite card, the two of hearts. Her father had won her mother's hand in marriage with that card. Dare she leave it behind as a signal to ease their troubled hearts? Slipping it beneath the previous winter's leaves, she could only hope that it would be found and the message understood.
She nearly leapt out of her skin when Lee set a plate on her lap. "Sometimes you move so quietly."
"I am a man of many talents. Eat."
Gingerly she searched for a strip of meat. She'd always been self-conscious eating in front of people, but from the beginning it hadn't bothered her to eat while Lee watched. She assumed her need to survive was stronger than her aversion to embarrassment. She slipped the succulent meat into her mouth, and almost groaned from the pleasure of eating something besides jerky. "Why did you turn to a life of crime?"
Sensing his stillness, she could well imagine his dark eyes boring into her. "It is not so much a life of crime as it is one of revenge."
"Against Vernon Shelby?"
"Sí."
Slowly she chewed while contemplating what she knew. He had killed Vernon Shelby's son. He signed his name to the bank robberies, always indicating that he was only taking Shelby's money. But when questioned, Shelby had no idea who Lee Raven was or why he'd singled him out. "I overheard Kit and Spence talking once—"
"Who is Spence?" he interrupted.
"Uncle Kit's son."
"I thought his son had died."
She set the plate aside, her appetite suddenly deserting her with the reminder of her failure to protect Kit's firstborn, the initial heir to his family's English estate. "Spence is his younger son."
"You speak of him as though you care for him."
Was Lee jealous? No man had ever expressed the slightest bit of envy where she'd been concerned. She suddenly understood why her sisters found it thrilling to have an abundance of gentlemen vying for their attention. "Spence is simply a good friend."
"Has he ever kissed you?"
She laughed self-consciously. He was jealous. "No. He's considerably younger than I am."
"What has age got to do with anything?"
She could not believe she was in the middle of nowhere with an aching head and a curious outlaw. "Do you prefer older women?"
"I enjoy women of all ages. Do you prefer older men?"
She sighed. "I was the one asking questions."
"Now I am the one asking. How old is this Spence?"
The man was infuriating beyond measure. "Eighteen."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four. How old are you?" she fired back.
"As old as my tongue, and a little bit older than my teeth."
Stunned, she sat in silence. Did the man have to be so damned mysterious? "You can't trust me enough to tell me your age?"
"The less you know, the better."
She folded her arms and tucked them beneath her breasts. "Oh, that's right. The bad men will do anything to find out what you look like." Based on the nearness of his voice, she leaned toward him. "Don't you understand that you're the bad man?"
"Have you forgotten the man who attacked you?"
"Maybe you didn't notice, but he wasn't exactly asking me to describe you!"
She jerked at the sound of a plate crashing against a tree. Lee's thundering footsteps vibrated against the ground. Against her better judgment she decided to press her advantage. She rose and fisted her hands against her sides. "You abducted me. You killed a man. You steal another man's money—"
His pacing came to an abrupt halt. "He stole from us!"
His harsh breathing surrounded her, and she could envision his chest heaving, his eyes filled with anger. "Are you saying that you're stealing your own money?"
"No." She heard him swallow. Tension strained the air between them. "He stole our land. He took our cattle … he shattered our innocence."
The anguish in his voice weakened her knees and she sank against the tree. "If what you say is true—"
"Do you think I would lie?"
Of all the things she didn't know about this man, the one thing she did know was that he'd always been truthful. "No, I don't think you're lying. But why not go to the authorities?"
"It's his word against ours. He said we stole the cattle, we stole the land. Then they lynched our father and oldest brother while the sheriff stood there and announced that justice had been served. When our mother tried to stop them, they killed her."
Her stomach roi
led. "But Shelby claims he never heard of Lee Raven before you committed crimes against him."
"A man cannot give a description of someone if he does not recognize the name."
The more she learned about him, the less she seemed to know. She should have realized that an outlaw wouldn't use his true name. "What is your name?"
"I've told you too much already. Finish eating so we can leave."
She heard him covering the fire with dirt and felt its radiating warmth retreat. She was a fool to care for this man, to desire any knowledge of him; all she would ever receive from him was heartache.
Would she—could she—betray him if she acquired the knowledge he so jealously guarded? Or as she feared, was she developing a fondness for him that might threaten her dedication to justice?
* * *
Lee despised the thick silence stretching between them and the stiffness in Angela's body. Revealing his name would give away not only his identity, but his past—a past he could barely remember, but wanted desperately to forget.
He and Angela had ridden for hours, taking only a few short breaks. He could not afford to rest for long or to sleep. He had lost precious distance between himself and the men who followed him. For an inexplicable reason, he was more concerned about the second group. If there were Rangers searching for Angela, they would be relentless in their pursuit, driven by loyalty, not money.
He withdrew his poncho from his saddlebag. Angela stirred as he slipped it over her head to offer her some protection against the cool night air. He worried about the blow she'd taken to the head. He should never have left her unprotected and alone.
"Settle against me so you are more comfortable," he said, pressing on her shoulder until her back eased against his chest and her head nestled within the crook of his shoulder. As dangerous as it was, he enjoyed the way she fit against him. "How is your head?" he asked.
"It just aches a little." She released a small laugh, a delightful sound that gave him hope she might have forgiven him. "I saw stars when my head hit the ground. I haven't seen stars since I was twelve."
"It is a clear night. A thousand stars twinkle in the heavens." A perfect night to kiss a woman, and he was incredibly tempted to kiss Angela again, to feel her pliant, warm lips moving against his.
THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY Page 7